Imponderables and Other Dilemmas
by shywr1ter
Summary: S1, ML Vignettes based on a the prompt at Raising Hell, 'in the end, it didn't really matter.' Three takes on the same phrase.
1. Imponderables

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

**A/N:**_ More challenge fic!_ Challenge #13 on the Dark Angel Archive site, _**Raising Hell, **_(hybridsandhunters DOT com BACKSLASH raisinghell) is a "last-line" challenge: their prompt to be used as the last line of the story is "**In the end, it really didn't matter." **

So I decided to try and spin off a series of little spur-of-the-moment ficlets with this final prompt, and it's proven to be tougher than I thought – all of my ideas end up using essentially the same sort of device to get to the end. But I'm not giving up! I'm dropping the two now posted at Raising Hell here, too, for now, and plan to see if I can add a few more to this series as time and inspiration allow.

Any and all comments appreciated..

**Imponderables**

_How did they get here?_

Wildly different backgrounds but each with pain in their upbringing; vastly different interests and reasons, but each with a hidden identity, verging on super-hero status. One felled by a bullet and the other by insidious seizures, each super-hero had an Achilles heel that made them feel ashamed and less than perfect that the other saw past, easily.

Unlikely, improbable; worlds apart in upbringing, culture, schooling and even age. But finally, finally, in the quiet of his penthouse, computers dimmed and candlelight making shadows dance along the walls, Logan was willing to turn off the insistent thoughts and questions about how they ended up like this, about how Max could see past the chair and his extra dozen years, about their past and the future and how they could possibly ever come close to having a normal life.

Instead, he drew her closer in his arms, feeling her soft skin along his as they lay entwined in sweet-smelling sheets, feeling his chest tighten in desire as Max again began to curl her way back around to seek his lips once more, palming his chest and vibrating her desire for him in a sort of low, growled purr that had to be another by-product of her feline DNA.

As he gasped with his spiking, renewed need for her, Logan finally jettisoned the inner debate about all the hows and whys and allowed himself simply to cherish the squirming woman in his arms, all of her. After all, no matter how and no matter why, she was there, with him, craving him, leaving all his pedantic questions behind, tangled with their clothes on the floor.

Max and Logan, worlds apart, overcame the differences and impossibilities to this moment, this life, together, in his bed. How they did so, they might never know.

_**In the end, it really didn't matter...**_


	2. The Right One

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

**A/N:**_ See chapter/story 1 for details..._

**The Right One**

He could tell she was nervous. Max, _nervous_, wanting to do this right, for him, wanting to fit in with the Cale family Christmas, to make him happy, to help the family be proud of_ him._ Logan found himself grinning at the thought, still surprised to see it.

"Original Cindy said that your aunt will know if it's the right dress and right shoes; how am _I_ supposed to know if it is?"

"Max, it's all fine," Logan chuckled warmly as he heard her pace from bedroom to bath in her agitation. Having Max Guevara, revved up Manticore soldier, turn completely into a girly girl for him, trying to pass muster for his impossible family, touched him more deeply than anything else had during the convoluted holiday season. "Just mention you got them at Jacque's and they'll pass; anything they have is 'right,' in Aunt Margo's book."

"Are you sure?"

The plaintive sound in her voice as it neared made Logan look up, and he saw, coming close, his beautiful Max, exquisite in a simply cut dress of rich, elegant fabric of deepest, forest green, its movement and drape caressing Max's perfect body. His eyes lit up at the sight.

"...because you said she thinks I'm a phony now – 'no Guevaras in Greenwich...'"

"Max..." he whispered, stretching his hand out to her, inviting her to take it. "You look beautiful..."

She came closer, almost timidly, reaching to slip her hand in his, curling closer as he pulled her near and she found herself seeking the reassurance his touch, in the way he looked at her. "But... will I fit in?"

Logan's eyes softened as he reminded her, in a murmur, "that's not the crowd you want to fit into..." Pulling her even closer, he lifted his face for a kiss, letting his lips linger on hers. "You know the only ones important here are you..." he nibbled her lip, the tenderness in his voice vibrating something low, deep in her chest, "...and me..."

Her unfamiliar anxiety and insecurity led to her next, more familiar emotions, and she found herself kissing him back, hungry for him, and almost needy for his reassurance. When his strong arms went around her to gather her into his lap, she folded into him, willingly. "I know," she tried again, "but picking the right dress is a big thing for someone like your Aunt Margo ... and I'm not sure I got it right."

Logan pulled back and looked long into her eyes, the love in his for her clear. In the next moment they lit up with a bit of fun and a soft smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Well ... let me check..." He shifted her to sit a bit sideways on his lap and, left arm still circling her, his right hand brushed her hair out of the way, and slowly pulled on the zipper at her back, bringing it down about five or six inches. Max blinked in surprise and peered back over her shoulder as she felt Logan reach along the inside of the neckline.

"What are you doing?" she tried to see.

"Checking the label." His voice was teasing, affectionate. "Mmmm..."

Then ... nothing more.

"...Logan?" Max paused, feeling him move the tag, tickling her, felt his warm breath on her back. "Will your aunt approve? Did I do okay?"

All she heard was a chuckle... and the sound of her zipper opening lower, as Logan trailed gentle kisses down the bare skin of her back, and his hand slipped inside the velvety fabric to caress ribs and shoulders, ever so sweetly...

_And__** in the end, it really didn't matter...**_


	3. Empty Efforts

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

**A/N:**_See chapter/story 1 for details..._

**Empty Efforts**

_In the end, it really didn't matter..._

They had given up so much in order to save her. Not once but three times, Max had made wild, uncalculated, spontaneous decisions that brought both herself and Zack closer to exposure and eventual capture, all in her stubborn, blind determination of bringing Brin out before it was too late...

They had kidnapped, and threatened with torture, the man who had taught them those techniques, just as other fathers taught their children that age to ride a bike or kick a ball. They revealed themselves – confirmed their whereabouts, showed their adult features – to the man from whom they'd hidden, at all cost, for a decade. They even allowed themselves, almost, to trust him, as their only option, certainly somewhere believing that there was some spark of nobility in him which would allow him to see Brin as a woman in danger and not a project to develop or commodity to sell...

All that Zack and Max had given up, all that Max had risked...

In the end, it really didn't matter.

It wouldn't be until Max post-mortemed the mission weeks later, when it wasn't so painful to face, that she'd see it: she had blown it; she had succumbed to the twin temptations of a sister in danger and the glimmer of hope and belief – _how sick is that_, she wondered – that the man who trained them, who raised them, the surrogate father each tried to deny might actually be worthy of trust and just that one time do something human.

In that emotional miscalculation, she had acted without thinking and had grabbed Lydecker, kidnapping him before giving any real thought to where they'd take him, what purpose he could serve or intel he could provide. Once done, having rattled herself even further by acting so rashly, and determined not to admit to her brother that she'd blown it, she erred again by letting Lydecker talk, by answering him and thereby assuring him that he was getting to her, by letting Lydecker work on her weaknesses just as she knew, she had to have known, what he was doing as he did so.

Max'd had to stay another ninety minutes alone with the man, while Zack enlisted Logan's help in getting some intel from his military contacts to determine their next move, and to uncover what Lydecker had done with Brin. All her training – all _he'd_ taught her – counseled that you don't let the prisoner talk, to get into your head. But ten years was a long time, a lot of questions later ... a lot of hurt. And a lot of time away from the 'classroom...'

_So now he's seen it, Max... he's seen how easily you succumbed. You'd have been thrown into the Box for that for a week, back at Manticore, for risking yourself and your squad ... and for what? For some sentimental, pointless past hurts that change absolutely nothing. _

_A week in the Box? Hell, for a failure that big, I'd've been sent back to Psy-ops for a total re-doctrination... probably exactly what Brin is facing, herself, right now..._

Lydecker would have seen it, right away: she was asking him for more answers than just where Brin was. Donald before her, neutralized, she'd thought, she let him talk, maybe needing to hear _some_ explanation from him, the whys of their creation – maybe even some apology for what he had done to them all. At the time, down deep, she had known all along what he was doing. Even worse, she would have known that he would see her weakness in allowing him to speak – a fact more frightening to her than the fact that her emotional, childish need for answers had allowed her to put them all at greater risk than necessary. Max had succumbed to that tiny connection, planted during her insane, dysfunctional childhood, which made her want to listen and believe, even as the man gently assured her that she could "always come home..."

But it all would have been worth it – the risk, the exposure, Lydecker's recognition of her sentimental weakness – if they had been able to rescue Brin. But Manticore had a final card to play and they had played it well, and despite overcoming tactical errors and a couple small armies to rescue their sister, in the end, it hadn't mattered. In the end, they lost Brin to Manticore, the only hope they had of not losing her to the progeria rigged into her DNA. In the end, their efforts were fruitless, and she and Zack had revealed much more of themselves to Lydecker, all for naught.

They had risked their safety, their sanity, their freedom, their lives, for one of their own.

_**In the end, it didn't really matter. **_


End file.
